Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 94624 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94624 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
The Fourth of July was going to be our regular grilling out day, but since the forecast called for rain, we went to Dane’s instead, and actually took Dobby and Chilly with us because neither of them liked fireworks. I set Chilly’s travel cat litter box in Dane and Aja’s laundry room, and Dobby ran around with their dogs, their dalmatian and their pittie. I was worried, for Sam, that it would be a lot of people, because they entertained often, and normally they had a full house. But I was happily surprised that it was a small group, without Abe and Rick, who had gone to Wisconsin to see Aubrey’s family. Rick didn’t enjoy making that trip, so I would have to remember to ask how that went the next time I saw them. But Aaron and Duncan were there, Dylan and Chris, some people Aja invited from work, Aja’s kids and those they were dating, my kids and those they were dating, and it was nice. It was nice of Dane and Aja to host, since from their penthouse apartment on the waterfront, the fireworks were right there on full display.
Aja made Chilly a spot on her bed with an extra fluffy blanket and a heating pad, and our cat stretched and made biscuits and then, as usual, was out like a light. Hannah and Jake, who came over to eat before they went to a party, walked all three dogs, and once they got home, they joined Chilly for a nap on the bed.
“I had no idea Dane Harcourt allowed dogs to sleep on his bed,” Duncan said, chuckling.
“Dogs are supposed to sleep on the bed,” Dane stated as he walked by.
We had a nice time. Kola and Finn came by to watch the fireworks, and then they ducked out afterward, along with almost everyone else but what I thought of as our little core group.
“Why does he want to talk to me?” Sam moaned as soon as they left, rounding on me.
“Who wants to talk to you? Finn? Maybe he wants to ask for Kola’s hand in marriage.”
“How romantic,” Aja said, sighing.
“Stop,” Sam ordered both of us. “Kola wants to talk to me.”
“You like talking to your son,” Duncan reminded him.
“I do, but I suspect it’s about something personal.”
“Personal like what?” Aaron asked.
“I dunno, but he had a weird look on his face.”
“Which is fine.” Dane sounded dismissive. “Both of you come over here and tell me all about Kola’s birth parents coming to your home. I didn’t hear enough about this, and I want the play-by-play.”
“Me too,” Aaron said, carrying the cup of coffee Aja had poured him.
“Do you want some Baileys in that coffee?” Chris asked.
“Oh yes, please,” he replied, smiling, and he carried it over with him because he wanted to hear the story too.
“Go tell the story,” I prodded my husband. “And I’m certain you can handle whatever it is your oldest child needs to know.”
He grunted but went over and sat down, a cup of coffee and a piece of key lime with him. “I swear to God,” Sam began, “I was very close to tossing Kola’s birth father out of my house on his ass when he first started talking.”
Everyone was riveted. The only people that didn’t need to sit down and listen again were Aja and Dylan, who had sat with me, over lunch the day after, and heard everything in exhaustive detail. It was a nice way to end the evening.
Kola got busy, and of course his father always was, so whatever the talk was about had been put off, and then this past Friday, Sam was on his way home, much later than usual—it was a bit after nine at that point, as he’d attended a meeting downtown with the heads of some other agencies—and called to tell me that my son was on his way over.
“Don’t sound so worried,” I told him.
He groaned.
“Are you hungry, or did you eat?”
“They had a beef course or a chicken course,” he grumbled.
I chuckled, knowing, from his tone, that neither had been a good option. “Okay, so we have leftover meatloaf or lasagna, what’s your pick?”
His whimper was adorable.
“Meatloaf sandwich with the works? And I’ll feed the lasagna to Kola,” I told him. “I think I even have jalapenos and those disgusting kettle chips you like.”
“I love you so much,” he assured me.
I smiled into my phone.
“Oh, gotta let you go. I have Hannah on the other line. I’ll call ya right back.”
The break was good; it gave me time to start prepping for my husband and my son to show up. As I was preheating the oven, Chilly came strolling in, jumped up on the counter, which he never did anymore, and then walked back and forth before suddenly balancing on his back legs, paws up, to try and see what was—